


Tummy Talk.

by Sinbirdy



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Body Worship, Bottom Jack, Burping, Established Relationship, Feeding Kink, Finger Sucking, Humiliation, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rhys is kinda embarrassed by his kink, Riding, Rimming, Top Rhys (Borderlands), Weight Gain, but Jack's a SLUT and he'll do anything for a good time, dad bod Jack, feederism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinbirdy/pseuds/Sinbirdy
Summary: Jack ate too much, and Rhys talks to his noisy tummy. Somehow, that turns into kinky shenanigans where Rhys gets him a few more late night treats, then fucks him. It's also romantic if you look hard enough.
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Tummy Talk.

**Author's Note:**

> I FEAR NO ONE  
> This is incredibly self indulgent porn because I've been meaning to properly write rhack feederism for AGES and with some encouragement I finally did the deed. Shout out to those who share my kinks - this one is for you. 
> 
> If it doesn't float your boat, don't read! Otherwise, please enjoy! If you want to specifically talk about tummy related kinks, find me on tumblr at ChubbyBubby! Or you can find me on twitter @MurderButSexy
> 
> See you there, Jack and dad bod fuckers alike.
> 
> (Please ignore any mistakes you see I posted this at 2am and read it over best i could before fleeing into the night)

Rhys can hear Jack from the ensuite to his bedroom, whining like an injured wolf as he tends to the rolling digestion of his bloated belly. Rhys wipes his face clean, finishes up his nightly routine before turning off the light and leaning on the doorframe to stare at Jack. He's lying in the middle of their bed sprawled out, akin to a turtle stuck on its back, with his hand rubbing the bottom of his belly to try sooth it. Rhys enjoys the sight, shamefully amused by the distressed expression knitted into Jack's face, or the breathy burps he lets out between moaning. No one would be allowed to see Jack like this, so vulnerable and needy. That does wonders for Rhys' ego.

He sits himself beside Jack on the bed and rests a hand on top of his belly, patting it affectionately. Jack's a big guy, the way his belly rounds out after he stuffs himself full of good food is a deception to the image he tries to portray. His midsection, usually, is plump, the palpable squish takes more than just a handful to really appreciate, and hangs over his waistband when let loose. It bulks him out, and when hidden away is just a secret for Rhys to unleash behind closed doors. It always surprises Rhys how well Jack can hide his weight with some strategic layers and an expensive girdle - making him appear slim and slender like he's kept the same trim figure since his 20s. 

However, when Jack gorges himself like his body is the turkey on Thanksgiving, needing to be stuffed, the soft dough of his belly becomes swollen and round, hard to the touch where it's packed full of delicious treats. It's not egregiously round like a heavily pregnant person, but the way Jack carries his weight and huffs and puffs in great earnest, he could be easily mistaken for someone in their second trimester. The squish is replaced by tight skin, and if Rhys wants to squeeze him like a stress toy, it takes more effort to succeed.

Rhys does his best to work against a loud cramp, moving his palm in broad circles over Jack's taut skin. The older man grumbles, letting out a soft belch that comes up like a beastly growl, and leaves him winded. He looks down at his belly and frowns, seemingly disappointed, as if his own stomach has betrayed him.

"Last time I let you convince me to enter an  _ 'All You Can Eat' _ competition just for a free meal." He burps again, more bassy this time, and follows off with a pained whine that harmonises with the noises of his belly. Rhys snickers under his breath. He moves his hand over Jack's skin and brushes his thumb through the fluffy patch of hair along his happy trail.

"You did so good though," Rhys replies, though his eyes are glued to the curving sphere of Jack's belly. He moves to lay beside him and shuffles down so his face is at level with Jack's belly. He rests his cheek on it, skin to skin, and slides his hand to the underside of it. A loud gurgling wailing suddenly comes through and Rhys clicks his lips together. "Awe, you don't sound very happy, do you?" He asks, undeniably talking to Jack's distressed stomach, that amusingly makes another high pitched wail as if it's answering him. "I'm so proud of you though! Such a greedy tummy, out eating everyone else and proving what a glutton you are!"

Jack frowns as his face begins to blush. He crosses his arms over his chest, using the rim of his stomach as a surface to lean on. "Are you seriously talking to my gut right now?" He asks, accusatorial.

Rhys snickers softly, but neglects to answer him, simply returning to the fascinating conversation with Jack's noisy digestion. "You make all this noise now, but I bet if I could bring out, say, oh I don't know, more of those gooey chocolate brownies I know you love, you'll be unable to resist," he presses a soft kiss against the tight skin, feeling soft tremors reverberate against his lips. He wraps his arm around the round surface and hugs it close. He gives it a gentle squeeze, coaxing a grunt from Jack.

"Jesus, careful." Jack grumbles, glaring down at the young man who showers his distressed stomach in a bountiful supply of affection. He thinks about the contents of his belly - the full rack of ribs, the fried chicken, the mash potatoes covered in gravy, the desserts, the milkshake and refills of soda to help wash it down, and so much more - and wonders how he could contain it all without exploding. How isn't he  _ bigger? _ He knows full well eating like that regularly will  _ make _ him bigger, and seemingly by the looks of things, that's a reality Rhys wouldn't begrudge.

Rhys runs his fingers over the fiery pink stretch marks running up the underside of Jack's belly. They vary in degrees of vibrancy, some more prominent than others. Rhys didn't know he liked stretch marks so much until he saw them on Jack. He had some prior to dating, but they really flourished in their relationship, blossoming like springtime flowers. He loves the subtle bumps against his touch, the definition of growing lines against smooth, soft skin, and he reads each mark like braille. If he wanted to get soppy, he'd tell Jack he thought they were beautiful. He'd explain how those imperfections make him a picturesque painting of something sublime, and he was grateful to enjoy them when no one else could.

A long wail sings from Jack's belly again, like it's moving up every key on a piano before cutting itself off abruptly. Rhys coos. "So many  _ opinions _ tonight! You just really want to tell me about how good your dinner was, huh?" He playfully prods an area and scoffs when a resulting gurgle bursts through. "Maybe you're being noisy because you want more…"

He peers up to look at Jack. He meets the older man's gaze, and awaits, noticing how he remains silent, eventually turning away from Rhys when the pressure gets too much. A devious smirk travels across Rhys' face.

"Such a glutton, always able to fit just a  _ little _ more every time you're about to stop. Do you want me to keep you nice and round?" He exaggerates the rubbing motion with his hand to cover the full width of Jack's belly, admiring the whole size. "Wouldn't want anyone ignoring you! Need to make sure you stay fat and full, so heavy you need an extra hand to carry you." Another pathetic sounding whimper bubbles up and serenades Rhys. He has to bite his lip just to resist moaning, getting riled up as if the unconscious gibberish of Jack's upset belly is anything near dirty talk. "I'm sure we've some beers in the fridge, and I believe some of those cupcakes from the office party in finance that I know you love so much."

As if on queue, Jack perks up, his eyes widening just a smidge. He's trying his best not to look too eager, but he can't hide the gluttonous caveman part of himself from Rhys. It's too strong. He averts his gaze from Rhys eventually and shrugs, but it's too late to pretend he's not interested in filling up more.

Rhys shoots up and throws his legs over the side of the bed, looking over his shoulder at the bratty older man. "Do  _ you  _ want to have some fun, handsome? I know what your belly thinks, but I'm gonna need confirmation from--"

"Yes, okay! Jesus, sure, get the food, I don't even  _ care _ ." Jack tightens his arms folded over his chest and huffs, sulking, eyes the complete opposite direction of Rhys. He's putting on the aggressive front, but Rhys notices the flaming pink burning up over his ears, his blush so fierce it's spread like a forest fire.

He saunters off to the kitchen to fetch Jack some treats. He'd planned on sleeping, but he's as much a slave to Jack's glutton as the older man is himself. Of course they do both play into it for fun, there's no point pretending it's not absurdly sexy and a turn on for both party's. He takes the box of cupcakes and the remaining 3 beers in their pack and gleefully returns to their bedroom, showing off the items before setting them down on the bedside.

He resumes his place in bed and picks up one of the cupcakes, taking it out of its paper wrapper. He turns over and holds it in front of Jack's face, his other hand resting on his belly, patting gently. Jack rolls his eyes as Rhys wavers the dessert around temptingly, but his belly seems to answer excitedly for him as it calls out with a whine, making Rhys snort.

"I've never met someone with such a talkative tummy." Rhys comments, amused, edging the treat toward Jack's lips. Jack accepts the offer, biting into the fluffy, delicious treat, and moaning as the sweet flavour of vanilla frosting dances on his taste buds. 

"It's not  _ talking _ , kitten," Jack complains, voice muffled by the thick cake still in his mouth. He swallows the mouthful. "It's just digestion."

"Stop being such a sourpuss." Rhys abruptly shoves the remainder of the cupcake in Jack's mouth, overwhelming him. The gooey frosting and fluffy cake crumble around his mouth as he tries his best to take it all in, but inevitable crumbs trickle down and spread over his chest. Rhys stifles a laugh best he can, but Jack's frown and messy face has him snickering like a naughty schoolboy. "Sorry, your belly told me to do it."

Jack grunts, chewing loudly. "Wow, nice to know where your loyalty really lies." He remarks as he wipes the frosting spread over his face with his thumb and licks it up. 

Despite the irritable front, Jack continues to accept being fed the other cupcakes in the box. He's slow, needing more time to chew and prepare himself to swallow. He's still packed full from their date not too long ago, that even just the act of chewing is laboured and difficult. Rhys keeps on supportively massaging Jack's belly. He's practically glued in place, doing his part to ease Jack's digestion, as well as appreciate his body. Eventually, Jack zones out while eating the delicious treats offered to him. His eyelids get heavy and his jaw works on instinct, following orders from his greed to satisfy Rhys' desires. Between swallows he takes heavy deep breaths, and moans, the fullness running through his whole body and not just his belly. No matter the strain, Jack presses on.

"This isn't too overwhelming, is it?" Rhys asks out of the blue, unwrapping one of the cakes and holding it back tentatively. "If you'd rather just relax, that's okay! Really, I can get you some pepto bismol or--"

"Jeeze, slow your roll, kiddo!" Jack laughs. He pushes himself up a bit and places a hand around the back of Rhys' head to pull him in. He lays a soft, passionate kiss against his lips, smiling with the act as he feels Rhys' body relax with him. He pulls back and laughs through his nose when he sees Rhys now fashioning a big dopey grin, cheeks rising with a cute pink blush. He strokes the back of his head with his thumb. "If I didn't want it, I could easily throw you to the curb, okay? I like your weird kinky ass, so relax." He slips his hand down Rhys arm and takes his hand to guide onto his stomach. He pats it, then settles back into his lazy spot in the bed. "Fill me up, buttercup, before I decide to eat you instead."

Rhys rolls his eyes, but obliges, bringing the treat to Jack's lips for him to have another bite. "I think I'm a bit too big for you to snack on." He teases, but when Jack shakes his head, he raises a brow quizzically. "I'm literally taller than you, let alone human--"

"Taller, shmaller, I've got drugs and tech made in the R&D department for human shrinking. You'd be a bite size Rhysie piece!" He winks and bites into the cake again, amused by the appalled shock on Rhys’ face. “You want me to keep explaining?”

“No, no I’m sufficiently horrified enough now I know you have the means to eat me so easily.” He smiles awkwardly, with his hand falling down the side of his belly. He draws faintly over the ridged scars littering Jack’s abdomen while the older man continues to enjoy wolfing down the dessert.

Rhys is completely entranced by how accommodating Jack makes himself be, taking each bite no problem despite how stuffed he already must be. It's so much though, his belly feels seconds away from popping with how much he's carrying. It's the way Rhys looks at him with such heated admiration that fuels Jack's motivation. He makes himself have room, even if his body prays for the end to near so it may relax.

When all the cupcakes are gone, Jack lets out a deep sigh, shifting to sit himself up right better. A series of whiney noises announce themselves from Jack's gut, and he tends to the irritation best he can. He nods toward the beer cans beside Rhys, signalling for him to hurry up. Despite his body's best efforts to reason with him, Jack perseveres on, his gluttony mightier than his logic.

“Ready to wash it all down?” Rhys teases, trying to sound suave despite how absolutely incapable of such a thing he is. Jack just laughs under his breath, sitting up and moving in closer to practically nuzzle up beside Rhys. He leans in and pecks the younger man’s jaw, resting a hand on his hip and giving him a soft squeeze. Rhys is lanky and twig like, there’s barely anything to grab, but Jack’s acutely aware of the minimal pudge his hips carry, knowing if he wants to indulge himself in Rhys’ body, it’s the love handles he’ll always start with.

“Abso-freakin’-lutely,” Jack growls, lazily peppering kisses from his jaw to his lips. Jack’s hand begins sliding under his pajama shirt, grabbing more possessively at the soft layer of chub that is Rhys’ love handles. Rhys tries not to giggle at the affection, 

Rhys opens one of the beer cans and brings it in front of Jack. The smell hits Jack the second it's in range of his nose, drawing him in. Rhys carefully aligns it with Jack's mouth and eases the can upward. It goes down smoother than expected, but bubbles pop and brew in Jack's chest the more he takes. The feeling of “inflating” is fast too, the pressure of the fizzy going straight to his belly and making him feel heavy. He drinks down as much as he possibly can in one go before the sheer weight of the  carbon dioxide is unbearable. He pats Rhys' thigh, and he respectfully pulls it away. Jack's instincts are to gasp for air.

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” Jack blinks away the few tears collecting in his eyes. It takes no time at all for the alcohol to churn up his insides, and before he even knows it, a sudden monstrous belch erupts from his stomach. He groans as it rips through him, and slouches back lazily when it's over, relieved by the release of pressure.

Rhys just stares at him, clutching the beer in a tight grip that the aluminium of the can dents slightly under his fingers. It's not a secret anymore that, alongside feeding and indulging in Jack's belly, he gets turned on by him belching. At first it was mortifying. He'd been ready to hide his shame for the rest of his life, but Jack had forced it out of him in the end. He thought it was cute how flustered Rhys got over something inherently not sexy, and after some talking and a few bottles of pop, it became one of their many saucy secrets. Just like any time before, Rhys' dick twitches at the sound, a strong heat swarming the pit of his stomach.

“You okay?” Rhys' voice is soft. His fingers merely dance over the taut mould of Jack's gut, no pressure like he wants to apply. He looks at the disoriented look on Jack's face. His gut is churning fiercely, whining out as the fizzy moves through him. He attempts to respond but is cut off by another obstreperous belch, moaning afterwards. Jack brings his own hands to his belly and presses against his abdomen to try disrupt the discomfort.

"I'll be fine, kitten, don't--" Interrupt by, again, a strong, painful burp. He grunts. "Don't fret." He gives Rhys a lazy smile and motions for him to bring the can back, which Rhys does, slowly pouring the remaining beer down Jack's throat before opening the second can.

Rhys doesn't know quite why he finds the whole thing to be a turn on. It's not like when he grabs a drink with Vaughn, he'll pop a boner the second some drunk let's rip burping, or he'll get hot under the collar just in company with someone else eating. It's very specific. He thought for a while it was just some weird fantasy thing, but then he started dating Jack. The first time he saw Jack shirtless, when he wrapped his arms around him and squeezed his belly, Jack's timid moan confirmed for Rhys that he wanted to try out those fantasies. He wanted to take care of Jack, blend humiliation and praise together, and reap the benefits that come with his guilty pleasure. In this case, the guilty pleasure is Jack's round, bubbly tummy.

Watching him chug down cans of beer is, somehow, sexy. When the first can is drained dry, Rhys cracks open the second without hesitation. He lays his free hand on Jack's firm belly all the while he drinks, watching his throat move with each swallow. He's obsessed with touching him, feeling up how his usually squishy belly is now firm as a bolder. When Jack breaks for air, his breathing is a chore to find, with the best relief being Rhys' padded fingers tenderly pressing into his skin. He swallows air down and steadies himself to belch on command, the noise low and rough, and comedically stylised almost like he's doing singing trills.

Rhys brings his lips down to kiss Jack's belly, then rubs at the spot with wide sweeping circles. "You're  _ ridiculously _ sexy…"

Jack snorts, reaching out to take the can from Rhys. "Duh, I'm Handsome Jack. I was born sexy."

Rhys looks up and rolls his eyes. "I was talking to your belly." He jokes, laughing when Jack crinkles his nose and grunts under his breath. He moves himself so he's between Jack's legs, and places both hands either side of his rotund belly. He gives the area a hearty shake, riling up the bubbling gurgles already upset and loud, and then leans down to kiss the area again. "Why do I find  _ this  _ all so sexy…"

Jack tries his best to come off cool and nonchalant. "Because you're a kinky little weirdo, obviously. Some people like abs, you like guys with 'dad bods' and gas." He grins when Rhys meets his eyes with a glare, bringing the beer to his lips to drink again. 

"I like  _ you _ , not just any old...dad bod..."

Jack swallows, pushing out an obnoxious belch before following up with "You sure, kitten?" He grins with smug contentedness, noting the warming blush on Rhys' cheeks, followed by him trying to hide his embarrassment by burying his face in Jack's belly. He shakes his head. "I'm messing with you, dumb dumb. It's just one of your kinks, no biggie. It got me hard as a rock too, so I'm not complaining." He thrusts his hips upward lazily to emphasise his point. 

Rhys' eyes flicker down to where Jack's cock tents his sweatpants, and without warning, he places his hand on it, groping fondly. A fiendish grin lifts his smug face when Jack's cockiness flickers to shock, and he tenses up. Rhys feels his dick twitch lightly. He lifts a brow and begins slowly rubbing his hand up and down, working Jack up more, and watching for his inevitable reaction.

Which Jack surely delivers, biting his lip and moaning lowly in the back of his throat. He lets his head fall back into the pillows and thrusts a lazy rhythm up into Rhys' grip.

Rhys' eyes flicker to the beer can in his hand. "You gonna finish your drink, or are you too full up?" He knows what he's doing - putting on his best temptress voice, batting his eyelashes and challenging a man who often prides himself on the fact he thinks he’s perfect. 

Jack looks down himself to glare playfully at Rhys, scoffing. He sits up a little so he can comfortably continue drinking, and brings the can to his lips again. 

“Don’t move your fucking hand, you hear?” He warns, with a growl and a smile tugging the corner of his lips, before promptly downing the remains of the can as fast as he can. Rhys chews on his bottom lip and watches eagerly, eyes flickering to Jack’s bare belly, watching as if he can see it inflate before his very eyes. It rises with Jack’s breathing, and wails cutely as it has been doing. Rhys keeps groping Jack, squeezing his own thighs together in frustration. He wants so badly to get off on the scene before him, having  _ the  _ all powerful Handsome Jack acting like a gluttonous slob for him. His little shameful fantasies he was always too afraid to tell anyone about, suddenly he’s sharing the euphoric bliss with his boss and hero. He gropes Jack with an enthusiasm he hopes portrays just how eager he is.

Finally Jack finishes his can, grunting loudly as the bubbles fizzle in the base of his chest. He burps, uncouth and loud, and scrunches the can up in his hand before throwing it across the room, unbothered where it lands. Then, with a predatory expression targeting Rhys, Jack reaches forward with great effort and grabs Rhys by the collar of his pajama top, yanking him forcefully so he falls atop of Jack. The older man grunts in discomfort, and the weight of Rhys on top of his uncomfortably full belly forces out a pained gurgle that comes up as another belch, but he doesn’t care. Instead, he forces his lips onto Rhys’ and kisses him deeply before he can say anything in protest.

Rhys can’t hold back a moan when he feels Jack’s tongue meet his. He tastes, expectedly, like beer and icing, but most importantly he feels like home, and love, and bliss, all wrapped up in warm lust. When Jack pulls his tongue back, it leaves Rhys wanting more. He climbs awkwardly into Jack’s lap to straddle him, and cups his face to keep him close. The position allows him to feel Jack’s thick cock against his ass, and let him grind up against the boulder of his belly. He lightly bites down on Jack’s lip, drawing it into his own mouth before releasing it. They both moan, lost in the pursuit of pleasure, moving their lips in a rhythm only they can know in the heat of the moment. Their lust transcends beyond just their kiss, the volume of their passion echoing for miles and miles, far out of reach and beyond their own belief.

Rhys’ hands feel glued around Jack’s cheeks. He parts his lips with a hungry groan, while Jack starts spearing his fingers through Rhys’ soft hair, pulling him down eagerly like they weren’t already tangled up in a deep, messy kiss. Both their hips work in tandem to one another, desperately chasing the friction that feels so far away. Rhys loves how firm Jack’s belly feels, and how hard his cock is, and if he died in the next minute in Jack embrace, at least he’d die in a state beyond euphoria.

Eventually though, Rhys pulls away from their kiss, reluctantly, panting like he's run a marathon. A string of saliva trails between them both; eyes lidded and faces red hot with desire. Rhys can't seem to pull his eyes away from Jack's swollen, glossy lips.

"Want to top or bottom tonight?" He asks, hands sliding down from Jack's face to his shoulders. He's so wrapped up in the moment he fails to realise he's still grinding the bulge in the front of his pants against Jack's belly.

" _ Fuck _ , I don't care, both sound good," Jack purrs like a docile lion. He grabs Rhys' bum and squeezes, grinning when Rhys jerks a little in surprise. "You'll probably be doing most of the hard work anyway."

"Is that so?" Laughs Rhys, now very consciously grinding his hips, riling himself up.

"Yeah, I'm uh--" Jack stops himself as a loud rumbling echos from his belly, bringing itself up and being encouraged by Jack pounding his fist on his chest to release as a loud, wet burp. He smiles awkwardly at Rhys. "I'm feeling pretty freakin' lazy, kitten, so as long as you're putting your back into it and letting me enjoy it, I'll take anything." He puts his hands behind his head and exhales deeply. 

Rhys sits up and stares at him, thinking. He sits comfortably in Jack's lap, wiggling his hips playfully to tease the hard cock pressed up against his ass. Then he smirks, scoffing softly.

"Have you enough energy to get on your hands and knees?"

Jack quirks a brow. The corners of his lips curl ever so slightly. "Sure, Kitten." He smacks Rhys on his thigh and jerks his head. “Jump off so I can roll over.”

Rhys does as he’s told, sitting at the edge of the bed while Jack hikes himself up to get into said position. Kneeling up, he feels the churning in his belly shift suddenly, and he pauses to hold the bottom of his belly. There’s a long winding gurgle, then a grumble that shoots up into his throat and comes out as a wet belch. He exhales, and slaps his belly, winking, knowing what it does to Rhys. Of course the younger man blushes furiously, as Jack expected, and subtly slips his hand between his legs to feel up his aching hard cock. 

Then Jack pulls down his sweatpants to sit beneath the swell of his ass, and Rhys’ eyes are miraculously pulled away from the glorious curve of his belly in favour of his juicy bum. Sprinkled over his skin are freckles and moles, those which Rhys has counted and loved many times before, but still manage to take his breath away. Rhys tears his eyes away from his plush ass to look up at Jack, who’s grinning devilishly, knowing exactly what he’s doing. 

Rhys decides to tackle him into position, forcing Jack to fall forward onto his hands. He chuckles in good spirit, looking over his shoulder to catch Rhys’ fond smile, pushing back against the younger man’s concealed erection. Rhys moans softly, nuzzling into Jack’s neck while his hands wrap around him to squeeze his pecs, his hips grinding slowly against Jack. 

“You don't gotta dry hump me like a freakin’ poodle! My ass is literally out for you to fuck,” Jack laughs, but as he found earlier time and time again, is cut off by a quiet burp that rumbles through his chest. The noise doesn’t help pull Rhys away from humping him. “Rhys!”

“S-sorry,” Rhys kisses his neck and straightens up. He runs his hands down Jack’s back, sliding them over the outline of his love handles that curve his figure, before landing on his ass. He squeezes the fatty flesh lovingly, admiring the creases where his fingers dig into his skin, and then leans down so he's at eye level to his ass.

Rhys grips both of Jack’s cheeks and pulls them apart to get a good view of his bare, tanned hole. He’s a hairy man all over, yet down below, where most ignore, he keeps himself neat and tidy. The first time Rhys got an eye full of his hole, he’d been surprised to see his grooming regime included waxing where the sun didn’t shine. He smiles to himself before inching his face in closer. He pries at Jack's asshole delicately with his tongue, barely applying any pressure at all, but still enough to leave Jack desperate for more. The older man starts pushing back, whimpering as Rhys circles the tight ring of muscle, deliberately  _ never _ slipping inside, having too much fun teasing him. 

It's only after Jack growls as a warning, readying himself to curse Rhys out, that he finally moves things along. Rhys moves a hand in beside his face and softly aids in opening Jack a little more, allowing Rhys the space to gently dip his tongue inside with slow, firm licks. It's kitten-like, as if he's lapping Jack up, before dipping down to tease at his perineum and dragging his tongue all the way back up, never ceasing on kneading Jack's ass cheeks. 

All the while Jack is moaning into the mattress. It feels beyond good, he loves when Rhys eats him out, because despite all the teasing, Rhys has a knack for it. He's skilled with his tongue -  _ probably because he never stops freakin' talking _ , Jack thinks, hypocritically. Sometimes he's less giving when it comes to his sounds of pleasure, but right now he doesn't have the energy to try to hide them. His moans are low and drawn out, amusingly similar to a cow, and accompany his lazy thrusts back against Rhys' face, eager for more. 

And the position he's in - ass up, on his knees with his face pressed into the mattress - makes him all the more aware of how  _ heavy  _ his belly is after stuffing himself to the point of popping. His gut hangs like a great weight, still gurgling and rolling in distress, trying it's best to digest everything Jack's consumed. When the sound of his own heartbeat isn't echoing around his own head, all Jack can hear are the cries of his belly, missing the tender affection of Rhys' hands. He tries to tend to it himself, but moving his arm risks the threat of toppling over.

Rhys hears the noises the whole time, too. They spur him on, have his cock aching for attention. He uses his thumbs to tease at the edges of Jack's drenched hole, and repeatedly swipes his tongue over it before diving in, moaning himself when Jack whimpers. He notices Jack's toes curling.

Eventually Rhys pulls away and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He grabs both of Jack's cheeks and lovingly kneads the fat, pulling them apart to admire the glossy shine of his saliva covered ass hole. He chuckles lowly to himself and smacks his palm against one cheek, admiring how the fat ripples from the point of contact.

He rummages about the bedside table for lube. Hearing the sound of the bottles lid snapping open, Jack hums softly, the anticipation of more to come just too exciting to fully hold back. He wiggles his hips playfully to entice Rhys, but the movement has a play in shaking his belly where it hangs. The sloshing from all the beer is like crashing waves against the rocks at a beach. He grunts, alerting Rhys.

"You okay?"

Jack replies through a groan, "My gut feels like a damn water balloon."

Rhys blinks. He takes a second before snickering, much to Jack's annoyance. Rhys stifles his amusement, leaning over Jack's back and wrapping his arms around him to cup his hanging belly. Then, with the full, bloated weight in the palm of his hands, he gives him a hearty squeeze before jiggling his belly playfully. Rhys can feel the way the liquid moves with the movement, and takes pleasure in forcing a burp out of him, followed by a moan. He grinds eagerly against Jack's bare ass.

"Would you judge me if I said you were the sexiest water balloon I've ever seen?" Rhys asks with a playful tone to his voice, though his hips don't cease in dry humping Jack like an unneutered dog. The response he receives is an aggressive grumble. Rhys nods. "Yeah, I thought it was stupid the second I said it, too--"

"Will you shut your freakin' trap and get to fucking me?" Jack snaps, glaring over his shoulder. Rhys' eyes bulge a little, but he doesn't disappoint, straightening up and grabbing the lube again to prepare Jack.

"I prefer talking to your belly. It yells at me much less." He places a hand against Jack's lower back while the other, now sufficiently lubricated, carefully slips between Jack's cheeks, circling his puckered hole before gently pushing inward with his first finger. 

Jack presses his face deeper into the fluffy pillow, drooling into it, losing his composure and brief annoyance in favour of savouring the wonderful pleasure Rhys rewards him with. When Rhys tentatively slips in a second finger, Jack's relieved he can't see his face and the way he goes cross eyed. His jaw slacks and he whines, as pathetically as his damn belly has been. He pushes back, wanting more -  _ needing  _ more, like it’s the air in his lungs. He gets a hold of the bed sheets beneath him and grips them tight, feeling his palms ache from the pressure, while his knuckles wash white. He’s a slave to this, his desperation to get off, with a love so utterly obsessed in him. 

Rhys hooks his fingers and pushes in to hit Jack’s prostate, gently flexing to massage the spot. Jack lets out a desperate moan, loud and high, bowing his back, and Rhys smiles. With his other hand he rubs soothing circles into his back, and softly slips in a third finger just to really test the stretch. He pushes in against the same spot that just made Jack see stars.

“Is this a good position for your tummy?” He asks, quiet enough it would be easy to miss the question. Jack hears him though, but opts for a grumble. Jack arches his brow and thrusts his fingers in with more force, hitting Jack’s P spot so hard it makes him actually cry out cursing, panting afterwards. “Come on, Jack, if you don’t tell me, it’ll just make things worse when I fuck you.”

“Fuck you--” But Jack’s betrayed by a soft mewl of a moan, and he buries his face further into the mattress. Rhys is getting drunk on power, he can tell, and Jack hates to admit he fucking loves it. He wants to fight back instinctively, while the other part of him wants to melt into his love, surrender himself so Rhys can claim him, make him his. He inhales deeply, trying to take control of his shaky nerves, and turns his face to the side. Through gritted teeth, he admits “I want to ride you.”

Rhys tilts his head, biting his lip. He pushes in one more time, pressing up as much as possible to make Jack whine, then pulls his fingers out, leaving him hollow and needy. He listens to Jack pant heavily. He leans over and wraps his hands around his belly again, kneading the plush while pressing a loving kiss against the back of neck.

“I thought you didn’t have the energy to do anything?” Rhys mocks, gently squeezing and coaxing aggravated grumbles from his belly. When Jack groans himself and burps under his breath, Rhys laughs, kissing him again. “Alright, alright, you’re the boss, handsome. I’ll go nice and slow.”

Jack rolls his eyes but appreciates the sentiment. Rhys helps pull him up and then gets into position laying on the bed. He shimmies awkwardly out of his pajama bottoms while Jack does the same taking his sweatpants off fully. While Rhys grabs himself a condom to roll onto his cock, Jack stands beside the bed waiting, a hand placed under his belly to hold it comfortingly. He looks at the one beer on the bedside he didn’t get to start, and without putting much thought into it, pops it open and takes a generous swig. The cold fizz is refreshing, feeling heavenly when his body is consumed by so much heat. Bubbles consume his body, popping all the way down, but this time it’s a relief. When he pulls away, he gasps, letting out a horrendously loud belch. He puts the can down and smacks his belly, riling himself up.

Which Rhys can’t help laughing at, though he does also have his flesh hand wrapped around his cock, and he absolutely thinks the sight was as sexy as it was funny. 

Jack clambers back onto the bed and throws his leg over the younger man, straddling his waist. He looks over his shoulder as he holds his ass open and carefully aligns himself with Rhys’ cock.

“A condom, really?” Jack complains, throwing him a glare. Rhys helps position himself, and once ready, Jack slowly eases himself down to take the entirety of Rhys’ length. They both grunt at the feeling, so wound up that finally getting somewhere is like dying and going to heaven. Rhys places his hands on Jack’s love handles, squeezing him harder than he meant to.

“Is that really the weirdest thing of tonight?” Rhys laughs, though his voice is broken with lust. Jack places his hands on his thighs to steady himself. Neither of them have even moved yet. They’re both just appreciating the burst of euphoria that comes from being connected, anticipating the fireworks to come.

Jack shrugs. He grins, lazily, his eyes lidded and half asleep. Rhys wonders if maybe the beer’s kicking in just that little bit - probably not, he’s most likely just fuck drunk. “Just thought you’d wanna cum in my ass.”

“I figured this is cleaner. Means you don’t need to shower after.”

“You’re not going to lick up your mess after?”

“Ew, no, don’t be--”

“I’ve done it to you, cupcake. Don’t kink shame.” Jack winks, and Rhys decides to favour simply rolling his eyes than argue with Jack about whether he’d like to participate in felching tonight.

Instead, he thrusts upward, and makes Jack moan, rolling his head on his shoulders before letting his hand to stare at Rhys. The younger man just smirks, biting his lip, and follows through with another thrust, and another, before finding a comfortable rhythm to slowly fuck Jack. Lifting him is definitely a chore in of itself, him being a lot heavier than Rhys, but that adds to the sensation. Jack is big, and he’s heavy, and Rhys is just about able to find the strength in his boney hips to actively fuck him to a point he can just about get his bum off the bed. Usually Jack puts in some effort, rolling his hips or bouncing enthusiastically, but all he can seem to do right now is  _ sit, _ moaning as he enjoys the ride. Rhys might complain if itt wasn’t so fucking good. 

Jack briefly leans over to pick up the can of beer he left, and brings it to his lips. He pats his belly softly, and Rhys, with wide, surprised eyes, does as he’s told. He slips his hands over the taut skin and spreads his hands as wide as possible over him, while Jack brings the can to his lips. Before he can take a sip, Rhys finds his voice. 

“Jack, you sure about that?” He sounds genuinely concerned, though of course there’s a devilish part that would delight in the sight and results. Jack frowns, and instead of answering, tips the can upward and swallows down in huge gulps the remainder of the beer. It’s a strain, for sure, obvious by the whimpers that he lets out with each swallow, but he still does the job. He scrunches up the empty can and tosses it over his shoulder, panting. He places his hands on top of Rhys’ and encourages him to tend to his belly. There’s a painful sounding gurgle that calls between them, and Jack lets out a low growl of a belch, smiling on the tail end of it. 

“Either get to fucking me, or I’ll find someone who will.”

There’s a pause...then Rhys nods. His eyes are wide and shining with want. Jack looks delighted like the Devil’s greeted him, and straightens up so Rhys can fully admire his bloated figure. 

Rhys picks up speed, working his hips like pistons, and holds Jack's fat belly in the palms of his hands, alternating between acts. Squeezing, leaving soft nail marks, giving it a hearty jiggle to watch his whole body shake, rubbing wide circles into the taut surface to relieve the beast inside. He’s obsessive, intoxicated by how much he loves Jack like this. Every thrust aids in their kinks - he can feel the way Jack’s insides churn, the sloshing of the liquid, the angry growls that crave peace just make Rhys fuck him even harder. He physically picks up Jack’s belly, getting a good look at the underside where it hangs. He grips the roll hard and admires the plethora of white stretch marks that have faded into his body, mixing in a rainbow of pink and red from where he continues to gain. He lets his belly go and watches how the fat jiggles,  _ ripples _ across the rest of him, as it does just from bouncing on Rhys’ cock. 

Then he pushes his fingers up through his happy trail, all the way up to his navel. He decides to slip a finger in the deep hole, and is shocked when Jack lets out a strained moan, wincing slightly from the intrusion, before actually putting in a minimal amount of effort in rolling his own hips. Rhys tenses, pushing his head back further into the pillows, feeling transported somewhere heavenly from how good it is to fuck Jack. He keeps his finger in his belly button and grips the dough of his fat best he can.

“Fuck, Jack...you’re so... _ big, _ ” He manages to moan out, though it’s strained and weak. He meets Jack’s eyes and holds them with his own. Jack’s face has fallen soft. His hair has fallen out of place and sweat beads at his forehead. Eventually without warning, he’s clawing at the hinges of his mask and ripping the thing off to give him some air. He tosses it to the bottom of the bed and falls forward to rest his hands on Rhys’ shoulders. He chews on his bottom lip and whimpers. Rhys wants to capture the moment on film, print a thousand copies and bury himself in the serenity of a man so powerful fallen apart with submissive pleasure. 

His belly makes an egregious noise, and Jack can’t help but burp, the sound coming out more wet than desirable. He groans, slowing his rolling. In turn, Rhys slows down, but makes each thrust count, angling them to hit Jack’s prostate. The older man clenches around his cock, making each thrust more delicious, accentuating the velvety smoothness of Jack’s tight ass.

He pulls his hands away from Jack’s belly to cup his face, and though it’s awkward, brings him down for a wet, heated kiss. When he pulls back, he smiles weakly, moving his fingers to edge into Jack’s mouth. He growls when he takes them, sucking instinctively. 

“You’re so handsome…” He presses the pads of his fingers down on Jack’s tongue. Jack’s moans pick up, keeping a consistent rhythm, and his hips become erratic as they try to bounce back in time with Rhys’ thrusts. Rhys scoffs. “You close?” Jack can’t speak, so the best he manages is a nod, still sucking Rhys’ fingers. Rhys picks up his hips speed slightly. “Alright, I got you. I got you, I got you…”

They become lost in the sloppiness of their sex. Rhys pulls his fingers back and grips Jack’s hips hard so he can fuck him harder. The sounds of panting and skin slapping together and moaning and even Jack’s belly, they blend together and echo around the room. Rhys thinks his balls might explode, the sensation to cum is drawing in so close.

It’s when Jack finally calls out Rhys’ name, cumming between the two of them and tensing up, that Rhys follows him in turn. He cums with a vigorous thrust deep in Jack's ass, holding his hips up until the sensation ceases, struggling with Jack’s weight. The starry bliss envelops them both, consumes them for what feels like an eternity, though it’s only a few minutes. They both try to catch their breath desperately…

And eventually they laugh, completely exhausted and love drunk, the only way to end it is to come together with a sweet kiss, broken by their own inability to stop smiling. 

Rhys helps Jack down off his lap and lays him on the bed. He kisses his forehead and then moves to clean up - taking off the condom to throw in the trash can, grabbing a towel to wipe down the cum over his belly, and then getting a bottle of water for Jack and pepto bismol. When he hands him the two, Jack rolls his eyes.

“That’s a mood killer.” Jack snaps, but when his belly whines out and causes him to grimace and cramp up, Rhys just laughs at him. He forces him to take the offerings, and makes himself comfortable in bed. His hand goes to rest on his belly, patting it softly. 

“How you feeling?” Rhys asks. His voice is shot, straining like he’d been screaming at a concert. He flattens his palm to rub Jack’s stomach. Jack takes the medicine offered before downing half his water, and shrugs. He snuggles down deeper into the bed, putting his hands behind his head, enjoying Rhys’ affection.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He closes his eyes and considers nodding off.

Until the silence hits too hard. There’s a weird anxiety fizzling between them, and when Jack looks over, he sees Rhys with a thoughtful expression. He’s lost in his own brain, staring aimlessly down at his belly while massaging it. Jack grunts. 

“What’s wrong? You just blew your load in my ass. You know who I am, right? You know that’s an honour and a privilege to celebrate?” 

Rhys laughs softly, meeting Jack’s eyes. He doesn’t look sad...just thoughtful. 

“Do you think I’m weird? I-I know it’s a bit of a niche kink and all, and it’s probably not all that fun having an upset tummy, I just don’t want you doing anything for me that you don’t like because--”

“Woah, shit, stop talking!” Jack sits up slightly, to his belly’s discomfort, but he ignores the hollow growl. He faces Rhys and takes one of his hands in his. There’s a frown stitched into his brow, but a smile on his lips. “Kitten, do you even  _ know  _ the kind of shit I’ve tried in my life? Me and Nish used to do some real freaky stuff involving these slimy tentacles I had the boys in the lab whip up, and a particular line of Slag that used to make me black out, I’d cum so hard! And you know I’ve fucked and been fucked by my doppelgangers just for fun, right?”

Rhys is quiet, then, “Um...are you making a point, or are you just showboating your sex life?” He’s shocked when Jack laughs again. 

“My point, you idiot, is I like doing weird kinky shit, and if I  _ didn’t  _ want to do anything, I  _ wouldn’t. _ Have you looked in the mirror, Rhys? You couldn’t make me do anything I didn’t want, so stop freakin’ worrying. It’s annoying.” He goes to lay down again, rolling over onto his side. “Now, come spoon me.”

Rhys scoffs. “Thanks for the reassurance.”

“Kid,” Jack glares over his shoulder, “I ate my body weight in food for you. Aint that enough to prove I love your stupid ass? If I need to spell it out, fine! I don’t think you’re weird for getting a boner over the fact I’m sexy, and fat, and belch like a freakin’ champ. Okay? Happy? Now…” He nuzzles down again. “Spoon me.”

Rhys purses his lips, still a little anxious, but admittedly does find comfort in Jack’s  _ aggressive  _ reassurance. He settles down into the bed and wraps his arm around Jack’s middle, comfortably massaging his belly that still rolls uncomfortably. He kisses the back of Jack’s head and sighs.

“I love you, Jack.” He whispers, closing his eyes. 

Jack snuggles back into Rhys’ arms. “I love you, too, Rhys.”


End file.
